


Misery Tangled With Flowers

by 64K



Series: Olive Branch (Clive/Flora stories) [3]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: 100 Themes Challenge, Double Drabble, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, Romantic Friendship, but most of these are pretty platonic, higher rating for mental health issues, written with romance in mind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24904966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/64K/pseuds/64K
Summary: Maybe someday, once he’s become a good person, he’ll feel able to apologize. Maybe someday, when he apologizes, they can be friends again.Clive/Flora double-drabbles, written non-chronologically.
Relationships: Clive/Flora Reinhold
Series: Olive Branch (Clive/Flora stories) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863739
Comments: 15
Kudos: 29





	1. Try to Understand

_Introduction_

"Look, Luke, it's you!"

Flora's voice squeaks. Ordinarily, she'd be embarrassed, but she's so excited, she can't help herself; she can't stop her voice from climbing upwards, or keep from rising up on her toes, feeling the earth push her up into the sky, as if it understands how high her spirits have risen. She's meeting the Future Luke. She's in the Future.

Future Luke seems less than happy to see her.

He gapes, eyes wide, and Flora, for five seconds, is hurt. Did he forget about her? Is he mad that she's here? What did she do wrong?

Then he stutters. "O-oh, Flora, it's you!"

And she can't be (too) upset anymore; he's so awkward, so Luke, that she can't help but giggle.

"You didn't change much, I see," she grins. "Easily flustered, as always."

From the corner of her eye, she sees 'little' Luke make a face, and she watches the cogs in Future Luke's brain turn as he searches for an appropriate insult. "You're easily flustered yourself," he offers reluctantly. Then, more confidently, "But, I must admit, I'm glad to see you again."

He isn't mad at her after all.

She smiles, and hesitantly, he smiles back.

* * *

_Breathe Again_

She looks like she's going to cry.

Clive looks away, focusing on the train's floor. The least he can do is give her a bit of privacy.

Escaping from the chaos in the Towering Pagoda had seemed like the perfect opportunity to slip away and take care of some business, away from the professor's watchful eye. Of course, Clive couldn't go alone; Layton would sense something amiss. 'Protecting' Flora was a way to legitimize his escape. She was an innocuous travelling companion: trusting, and wholly believing in Future London.

He hadn't known leaving the professor would frighten her so badly.

When she'd fallen in the tunnel, unable to breathe from panic, he'd nearly panicked too; half-carrying her out of the dark, onto the train to the hotel.

He shouldn't have reacted like that. He's too far gone for fear, or guilt, isn't he?

"Do you think the professor's alright?"

Clive looks up at her voice. Flora's face is pale, her head lolling against the seat.

The Family wouldn't dare lay a finger on the professor. But he can't tell Flora that, even if it would reassure her. "I'm sure he is," he smiles, and ignores the guilt eating his insides.

* * *

_Light_

"It's nice out today."

"That's… good." Clive stares through her with vacant eyes. Silence falls once again, and Flora racks her brain for something else light and inoffensive to talk about; she can't stand the deathly quiet.

She can't talk about hobbies, because he says he has none. She can't ask about his family, because they're dead.

But really, it doesn't matter what she talks about. He only sits in silence, replying to her in monosyllables.

He said that he wants to atone, but he acts like he's already dead.

"Are you okay?"

Clive blinks, and Flora flushes; of course he isn't. She tries again. "I mean, are they nice to you? The workers here, I mean."

He looks away, above her, into the corner of the room behind her. "Yes, unfortunately." Then he's quiet again.

The silence is heavy, and awkward, and Flora doesn't know where to look. She wants to leave, but the professor wouldn't do that. Neither would a true lady.

"You can leave, if you want." Clive's voice is quiet, almost a whisper. "I know you don't want to be here."

He's hurting.

She can't just leave him.

She smiles brightly. "It sure is sunny today."

* * *

_Creation_

"I'm not good at music." Clive runs his fingers over the piano keys. "Miss Constance tried to teach me, but I improved so slowly, you'd never know how hard she tried. Music is so… arbitrary. The difference between a song played decently and a song played beautifully is impossible to measure. Machines are so much simpler. There's no points given for creativity with them."

"But machines can be creative too!" Flora's hands form fists, her eyes wide. "You can build them creatively… and they can have feelings, too, if you let them."

"Really?" Clive, hoping she'll elaborate, looks towards her, but she grows suddenly quiet, looking away shyly.

Clive coughs hesitantly, breaking the silence. "I suppose I'm just too absolutist for my own good. Anything less than perfection seems like a failure."

"You have to stop thinking that way! Even something simple can sound beautiful if you play it emotionally."

Her eagerness, despite himself, stirs a desire to try, at least.

Clive idly presses middle-C, then forms a C-major chord. He lets the sound ring out until it fades away—and with it, his confidence also fades. Flora watches expectantly, but he only sits, staring into the keys—black-and-white, like his thinking.

* * *

_Seeking Solace_

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. I know you understand."

Flora descends the stairs softly, and Clive follows, acutely aware of how heavy his own footfalls are, how out of place he is in this silent sanctuary.

The stairs lead into a small chamber. Flowers and grass lend colour to the room, despite the lack of light. A golden of ray light shines from above, enveloping a silver statue. The woman's face, smiling radiantly, glows softly in the light. "This is her," says Flora quietly. "My mum. I used to spend every day down here. I couldn't believe she was gone. I still can't. I… I can't believe that it's been twenty years now." She looks at him slowly, a melancholy smile on her lips. "I just kind of wanted you to see."

Clive doesn't know what to say. Should he tell her that she looks like her mother, that he would have liked to meet her? Should he talk about his own parents, how he still cries every night over them?

"Thank you for showing me,' he says, at a loss for more eloquent words. She smiles, and he knows that he answered correctly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Clive/Flora ship in theory, but it's so hard to find stories that acknowledge what Clive did wrong, or ones that don't make their relationship really… unequal, I guess? So this fic is an attempt to fill that niche for me.
> 
> A few notes for future reference:
> 
> 1: I see Clive and Flora as both being young adults, fairly close in age.
> 
> 2: The T-rating is for darker subjects related to mental health. This story will be mostly G-rated in all other respects.
> 
> 3: I'm going to organize each chapter's drabbles chronologically; however, the chapters themselves won't necessarily be in chronological order.
> 
> 4: These drabbles are exactly two hundred words each, and are sort of serving as a way for me to mine for ideas for a longer Clora story; if you see me self-plagarize in the future, I'm so sorry…
> 
> 5: If you like wholesome Clora that respects both characters' traumas, you won't regret reading "10 Years" by laytonisawesome on FF.net. It was definitely a big inspiration for me.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. From Darkness to Darkness

_Insanity_

"You're not Luke."

Flora's probably said the words a dozen times, but it's all she can think to say. She said them on the boat ride, on her way up the elevator, and now, as the glass walls close around her, she says them again.

"I'm not." _Clive's_ eyes are wild. He laughs, then covers his mouth, as though closing the floodgates against a torrent of hysterics. "I'm not," he says again, slightly more subdued. "I never will be."

Was he bad all along? He couldn't be. He was her friend. Or had _everything_ been a lie? "What are you doing?" she cries, pushing against the walls. "There's something wrong with you."

"You'll be fine," Clive says, his eyes shining feverishly. "The professor will be here soon enough. And there's nothing wrong with _me._ It's those depraved minds in government. They're the mad ones."

"Maybe they're mad." Flora struggles to keep back her tears. "But you're mad too. People are going to die."

"It's unfortunate." He shrugs, turning, walking away from her. "But it's too late to stop me now, in any case. Far too late. I'd like to see anyone try."

" _I'm_ trying."

The door shuts with a clang.

* * *

_Dark_

"You shouldn't have come."

He says the words in a whisper; that's all he has energy for. For a moment, he wonders if he even said anything at all, and wonders if she is actually here, or if he only imagined it. His vision swims, and his ears buzz, filled with beeping, and with the footfalls of doctors and nurses rushing down the halls.

"I wanted to."

Flora's voice is undoubtedly real, and he almost starts crying with relief at the sound of it, except he's far too tired for that. All he can do is lie still, feeling her hand come to rest against his hair, her fingers combing through the tangled strands.

"I'm never… going to be good, am I?" he hears himself say, on the verge of blacking out. He's probably faded in and out of consciousness ten times since she came, but her fingers never stop. "It doesn't matter how hard I try."

"You're wrong, Clive." Her voice shakes. "We know you're sorry. And we care about you."

"I don't _—_ "

The room pulses. He swallows, starting again. "I don't remember if...if I apologized. I'm sorry, Flora."

"I know." Her fingers are ever steady. "I know."

* * *

_Heaven_

"I followed the recipe this time; I promise."

Clive surveys the slice of cake with a critical eye. It looks perfectly ordinary _—_ but appearances can be deceiving. "No fish this time?"

Flora beams. "Nope! Although, I _was_ tempted; I stopped by the farmers' market earlier today, and there was this 'catch of the day' table, and _—_ "

"Ah. Yes. Quite." Clive coughs. He'd rather not hear more; he's already feeling nauseous enough as it is, without the thought of fish combined with the cake in front of him. "Tell me again what this is supposed to taste like?"

" _Heaven,_ " sighs Flora, spinning on her heel. "You've got to try it, and then we'll see if it's worth the professor's time."

"I'm sure it'll be lovely." Clive says the words with as much sincerity as he can muster; the more positive he is, the better it will taste (he hopes).

He holds the fork with trepidation. He takes a bite…

It's...wonderful.

"I'm so proud of you, Flora," he says in disbelief, taking another bite.

"What does it taste like?" she asks eagerly, leaning over his shoulder.

He smirks. "Am I allowed to say 'heaven?'

She grins, her face pink. "Cheeky, but acceptable."

* * *

_Expectations_

"You should go to sleep."

"So should you." Clive mumbles into the table. He _can't_ sleep. He's not sure if he'll ever sleep again.

There's a thump by his ear, and he looks up to see what caused the noise. A warm cup of tea rests beside his head, and Flora stands beside him, her tired eyes filled with disapproval. " _I_ slept the last two nights. You didn't." She sits across from him, taking a sip from her own cup. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

Flora frowns, and Clive quickly amends his words. "I mean… it's nothing that I want to burden you with."

"I want to know."

He doesn't want to tell her, but she'll never give up, will she?

Clive sighs, starting tentatively. "You know how… how I was, in my fortress? What if that happens again?"

She winces, and he winces too. Neither of them wants to remember.

"It won't." He can hear the forced brightness in her voice. "The professor and I won't let you."

"You couldn't stop me then, either. I'd…" He's so tired. "I'd...rather die than hurt you two again."

"Don't say that. _Please_. You need to sleep, Clive."

"I know." But he _can't._

* * *

_Love_

Clive lies stretched across the couch, his head resting on one of its arms, his feet on the other. His eyes are closed, but he's awake; it's blatantly obvious from the way his mouth quirks upwards in the corners, like he's trying not to giggle.

"You're taking up the whole couch," she says, hiding her smile behind her hand.

He follows suit, throwing an arm across his face, hiding his expression. "Do you know what I like most about you, Flora?"

"I want to sit there."

"I was here first, and I'm quite comfortable. To answer my own question: I find your way of stating the obvious most endearing."

"Scooch over."

"I love how you get straight to the point," he says, decidedly not scooching over. "You don't mince your words.."

With a flying leap, she throws herself onto the couch, and he hastily pulls in his legs toward himself before she can crush them. "You don't let others' opinions influence you. Most admirable."

She likes the little sound he makes when she wraps her arms around him. "In _my_ opinion, the couch is big enough for two."

"When you put it that way…" he grins, and hugs her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling kind of weird about these (romance is hard), but I wanted to get a few more out of the hundred drabbles out there. Thank you for taking the time to read!


	3. At Home

_Pen and Paper_

"I've been doing a lot of writing lately. The… people here suggested it." Clive holds up a well-worn notebook, as if to prove the truth of his words. The pages flutter open within his loose grasp.

Flora stares through the glass, trying to catch a glimpse of the words on the pages, trying to make sense of the scrawling script. Clive blinks, as if noticing her gaze, and snaps the book shut. The sudden sound makes Flora jump, and Clive winces. "Oh, I'm sorry," he stutters. "It's just—"

"No, it's okay," Flora stutters back, her face flushing. She shouldn't have been snooping. "I shouldn't try to peek. It's private."

"Yes," he says hesitantly, holding the book to his chest. "But I can't blame you. I'd want to know why I… why I did what I did… if I were you."

"You can just tell me." She leans forward toward the glass. "I'm not angry. I… was, but I'm not anymore. I just want to understand. Please."

He leans backward, as if afraid that she'll touch him through the glass. "Honestly, I… I don't even know, myself. If I write enough, maybe I'll learn why. Then I'll tell you, I promise."

* * *

_Innocence_

"Somebody's rather foul-tempered tonight."

Flora glowers at Clive, flopping bonelessly onto the couch without taking her shoes off. " _Somebody_ doesn't know what it's like to deal with the coffee rush hour customers."

Clive's smirk is infuriating. "Somebody doesn't possess the patience or the kindness to treat said customers mercifully."

It's all Flora can do to keep herself from chucking a pillow into his smug face. "Somebody has never worked a day in his life."

Clive frowns, his nose lifted in the air in a vain attempt at intimidation. "Says the pampered heiress of St. Mystere! Oh you of fickle memory. You forget that I used to be a reporter."

"You never were one," says Flora matter-of-factly, her scowl beginning to form into a smile (or, rather, a teasing smirk). "Who hires a teenager as a reporter? You were probably a paper boy. You just thought calling yourself a reporter sounded cooler."

"A _paper boy?_ " Clive looks disgusted, but something like mischief comes alight in his eyes. "You're just trying to push my buttons, aren't you?"

"Mm-hmm. And you can't do anything about it."

He smirks. "Oh, yes I can. Professor," he calls out plaintively. "Flora is bullying me."

"Children, _please."_

* * *

_Cat_

"Can't you get a cat instead?" Clive stares pleadingly towards her, his prettiest puppy-dog eyes in play (ironically, that might be doing him a disservice in this situation). "I'm not allergic to those."

"I want a puppy." Flora's going to be stubborn about this one. "They're cuddly and cute. And you can teach them to do all sorts of neat tricks."

"But what's wrong with cats? They're independent, and intelligent, and they have great personalities." He holds a hand, fingers outstretched, in front of his collarbone, smirking angelically, face shining with mock-arrogance. "Like me."

"Oh," Flora giggles, unable to resist teasing him. "That's why I hated Claudia so much."

Clive huffs, turning away. "You're cruel. To think you could hate an innocent animal!"

"Oh, Claudia is anything but innocent." Laughing, she chances a look at his face. The creases in his forehead are deeper than she'd have expected from what was meant to be an innocent joke. He always takes everything so seriously, doesn't he?

"But, I suppose I did grow fond of him eventually, as I got used to him." She pats his head; his hair is softer than Claudia's fur ever was. "Maybe a cat would be nice."

* * *

_Night_

"Don't you _dare,_ Alfendi."

Flora's brother freezes, his creeping crawl suddenly blocked by an immovable sister. "But _why,_ Flora?" he whines, peering around her towards his target. "He looks so _peaceful."_

"Shush." Flora nervously glances toward the couch. Clive hasn't stirred. She lets out a relieved sigh. "That's just it. You know how rarely he sleeps."

"But he likes playing with me." Alfendi tries to crawl past her. "He wouldn't mind if I woke him up."

Flora grabs him under his arms, hoisting him up into the air. "I know, but he doesn't know what's good for him, just like you. You should've been asleep ages ago."

"You're so _mean,_ Flora." Alfendi tries to escape, but Flora's iron grip is steadfast as they move towards Alfendi's room. "You like him better than me; I know it."

"Stop it. I like you the same." Flora drops him onto his bed. "Now go to sleep."

"You're lying," Alfendi yells as she descends the stairs, but Flora ignores him, approaching the couch. Clive's face is buried in the cushions, his breathing slow and even. The quiet sight makes Flora feel warm inside. Quietly, she tucks a blanket around him. "Sleep well," she whispers.

* * *

_Drive_

The door opens with a creak. Clive's in the middle of a thought, so he doesn't look up or lay down his pen, simply waiting until he hears something fall into the couch. "How goes it, Dr. Reinhold?" he asks, waiting to hear her laugh at his formalities.

When she doesn't answer after a minute, he looks behind him, over his shoulder. She lies there, unmoving, her face buried in the corner of the couch. He sets down his pen. "Are you alright?" he asks, sitting beside her.

"No one's going to hire me, are they?" Her voice is muffled by the fabric. "It doesn't matter what honours I got. They all think I'm dumb. Too cutesy or whatever."

"The interview didn't go well?" She'd been so excited this morning… "I'm sorry."

"I don't want to try anywhere out of London." She hugs a pillow to her chest. "I'm scared to leave you and the professor and Alfendi behind…"

"I… don't want you to leave either." The house would be empty and lifeless without her. He swallows, then forces a smile. "But it's your dream, right? You're incredibly qualified. Some university's bound to respect that.."

She sighs. "I hope so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly fluff-ish this time... I try to do a mix of fluff and angst, usually, but they were being cute this time, haha. I owe the idea of Clive being allergic to dogs to Kyoukalay; her very cute fic "One Step At A Time" inspired me.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	4. So sorry

**_Words_ **

_To Flora_

_The professor encouraged me to write this. It's rather late in coming, and I'm sorry for that. I had the idea that only some grand, in-person apology would be enough. But since it will be years until I'm free to do so (if the powers that be are foolish enough to grant me that kind of mercy), the professor said that you would rather not wait that long, and, in truth, neither would I. I hope this will suffice until I'm able to apologize in person._

_I'm sorry. Not only for kidnapping you, but for everything. For lying, and pretending to be your friend, and for tricking you, and the professor, and Luke… for what I did to London..._

_I really ruined everything, didn't I?_

_This isn't a very good apology, and I'm sorry for that, too._

_I don't even know if I'm going to send this after all._

_I'm not good enough to apologize._

_It would be better if I just disappeared, wouldn't it?_

...

"Are you ready to send it, my boy?"

Clive crumples the paper. "Not today, professor," he says lightly, smiling like he's done so many times before.

Maybe when he's good enough.

Maybe never.

* * *

_**Pain** _

"I'd like to apologize for last night." Clive stares past Flora into the corner of the room; his nose raised, expression taut, his face pale. He'd look arrogant if his hair wasn't messy, if his face wasn't pillow-creased, if his eyes weren't red, if the image of him silent and shaking wasn't so fresh in Flora's memory. "My memory's… fuzzy, admittedly, but I'm sure I made quite the scene."

"It wasn't that bad." Flora searches her mind, trying to think of ways to reassure him. "You're feeling better now?"

"Not really, but at least I'm not _crying_ now." Clive spits out the word, sharply enough to make Flora wince, and then she sees the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

Clive scowls, turning his face away. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"It's okay. I...I don't like crying either." She reaches toward him, then stops, hesitant. What helps her feel better won't necessarily work for Clive. "Do you… want a hug?"

Clive blinks, silent, and she regrets asking.

Then he slowly, wordlessly, leans into her shoulder. His arms stay by his sides, but she wraps one arm around him.

He cries silently, but she feels it.

* * *

_**67%** _

"No, no, _no!"_

Flora tries, for ten seconds, to maintain her composure, before giving up, falling forward, lying sprawled across the kitchen table. She can't stop quiet tears from staining the wooden table. Why is she so _stupid?_ She thought she was a good student. What did she do wrong?

"What's wrong?"

Silently, Flora pushes the crumpled paper forward. It's taken from her hand, and a second later, " _Oh."_ She hears a chair squeak; Clive's sitting next to her. "I'm sorry."

She looks up, unable to hide her tears. "I'm just so _stupid._ But I worked so hard; I don't see how I got such a bad mark."

Clive's eyes are distant as he scans the paper. "You aren't stupid."

"Then why did I get a sixty-seven?"

Clive fiddles with the paper, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. "Writing successfully is a matter of knowing the tastes of your audience." He smirks. "Your professor must have a taste for garbage. Luckily for you, I've written plenty of trash for the _World Times_. If you want my help, I'm here."

He acts nonchalant, but… he tries _so_ hard to help.

Flora wipes her eyes, summoning up a weak smile. "Thank you."

* * *

**_Breaking the Rules_ **

"I'm sorry for making you break the law." Flora's cheek rests against the car window. The glass feels good against her hot cheek at first, but quickly becomes as hot as she is; she'd pull her face away if she wasn't so tired.

"I don't mind. I've never had much respect for it." Clive chuckles nervously. "Do you want to go straight home, or...?"

"Home's fine." She doesn't want him to get into more trouble than they already are.

The car slows to a stop, and Flora, through the heavy haze of pain in her head, slowly becomes cognizant of crying in the backseat.

"Al, shush," Clive mutters under his breath. "I hope that I buckled him correctly," he starts, his conversational tone barely masking panic. "And that I'm driving well. It's been ages since I've driven. I hope the professor doesn't mind me borrowing his vehicle… Well, he wouldn't mind, since it's an emergency, but I don't want to get arrested again for something so trifling…"

His rambling fades away, replaced by the swelling buzz in Flora's ears. "Thanks for coming…" she murmurs, her eyes falling closed.

It's almost nice, how worried he sounds when he says her name.

* * *

_**Tower** _

"This was my second home."

Flora climbs over the rubble, and Clive follows blindly, struggling to keep up. She navigates the hills and valleys of shattered stone as expertly as if she were exploring her childhood home intact, instead of this rotting skeleton.

She reaches what must've been a stairway, and climbs to the top step, ignoring the way it starts to crumble beneath her feet. "Papa built this for me. He thought I was scared of the villagers, and he wanted me to wait until a human came along who could take care of me. But I was only scared of… of Dahlia," she stutters, "because she wasn't Mama. Papa thought I was Rapunzel, but I wasn't. And I was so lonely, until the professor saved me."

An image fills Clive's mind: the princess in the tower, locked away, cold, alone, waiting for someone to save her from her depression and isolation. He was the same; his mind imprisoned with bars of hatred and grief, afraid that another woman would replace his own mother, until the professor had saved him again.

"He saved us both," he says quietly.

Her smile shines like the sun. "I'm so glad he did."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: These are all so angsty... I hope these are okay. I've been really tired lately and it's hard to write anything longer, but these little drabbles are manageable at least. I was glad to get something written again after having trouble for a while.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this. Thank you so much for reading!


	5. Caring

**_Waiting_ **

"Would you like to come with me this time?"

Flora doesn't look up. "Did he say sorry yet? To you, even?"

The professor sighs, smiling tiredly. "Not directly. But he is sorry; I can see that."

"Then it shouldn't be so hard to say so. Just a simple 'sorry' would be fine. I don't need anything more than that."

"Clive... thinks in complicated ways." The professor chuckles softly. "There would have been many ways for him to expose the government's secrets, given the resources he had. But he was set on a specific, grandiose way, and couldn't be swayed from it, even when he knew in his heart that it was wrong."

Flora feels the professor lay a hand on her shoulder. "I think," he says quietly, "that this is the same sort of problem for him. He has to apologize in just the right way, and he simply doesn't know how."

"Tell him I don't care how. I just want _something._ "

The professor smiles sadly, opening the door. "I'll try, but that's all I can do. Goodbye, Flora."

Flora sits quietly, long after the professor's gone, thinking.

Clive's sorry. That's something. But she wants to hear it for herself.

* * *

**_Drink_ **

"Are you… going to drink the tea?"

Clive blinks, noticing the cup in front of him. "Tea?" he repeats dumbly, looking up.

Flora stares back, eyes wide. "You like tea, right? Or Big Luke did, at least…" She trails off, then starts again. "And the professor does. Or, he usually does; he didn't drink it today…"

He'd been lost in a daydream all morning, but now that she mentions it, Clive does remember Flora putting the cups down, the professor's distracted haste, his sudden exit from the house, Flora's distraught expression…

"I love tea," says Clive abruptly, and downs the cup. It's lukewarm, but it's not bad at all. She knows exactly how long to steep it; he appreciates that.

She smiles nervously. "Was it okay?"

"Yes" Clive says slowly. "Although I should have had it earlier."

"Sorry…" She laughs half-heartedly. "You were so quiet. I… thought you didn't want it." She pauses, then turns toward the kettle. "I'll make more."

As Clive watches her, he realizes that his mind is clearer now than it had been all week. There's something warm inside his chest, dissolving the fog in his mind. Is it the tea? What else could it be?

* * *

**_All That I Have_ **

_Only a migraine._

And that's fine. It's not as though Clive thinks Flora is _lying_ to him.

He's…simply concerned.. She shouldn't be this sick from a simple migraine, should she? Although he's never had one before… he wonders what it feels like. Is it like a concussion? Or is it worse than that?

He doesn't like seeing her, lying in a limp heap where she'd collapsed on the sofa, face as pale as…

Never mind that. She's fine.

Clive sits down on the arm of the sofa, and tries not to look at her. He doesn't want to worry unnecessarily; she wouldn't want that. She said she was fine. He should believe her.

He just… can't.

He doesn't know what he'd do if she…

It's his fault. He should have noticed before she went to work that she wasn't well. He should have…

Never mind the 'should-haves.'

He needs to do something _now,_ before he's too panicked to be useful.

Carefully, he sits down next to her, pulling a blanket from the back of the sofa and tucking it around her. She feels warm, and that comforts him. "Sleep well," he says quietly. "Just… please wake up, when you're done."

* * *

**_Starvation_ **

"Can't you cook tonight?"

Alfendi's eyes are plaintive, innocent—laughable. Clive can see right through his facade. "Why, Alfendi!" he exclaims. "I thought you didn't like burnt toast."

"I don't. But at least it's better than what _Flora_ cooks."

Clive almost feels bad for her, hearing Alfendi spit her name like venom. Almost.

It would be fun to tease him.

"There's no accounting for taste, I suppose," Clive says snobbily. "I suppose you're incapable of comprehending the true genius of the mind that creates dishes like _Triple Salmon Layer Cake_ or _Earthworm Puree a la Flora."_

"You _liked_ them, Clive?"

Flora practically dances into the kitchen, her face shining with glee. "I'm so happy!"

Clive wilts. Alfendi snickers. Clive tries not to punch him in the face. "I… appreciate the artistry and thought you put into them, Flora," he says charmingly. At least that much is true. "It must be so taxing." He pushes her into a chair. "That's why I'm cooking tonight, so you can rest. I insist."

"You're so nice," beams Flora. "Unlike _Alfendi."_

"You're both gross," Alfendi mutters, but he grins. "I won," he mouths at Clive.

"This battle, perhaps," Clive says aloud, and turns on the oven.

* * *

_**Family** _

"You've done quite well for yourself, Flora dear."

Dahlia gazes fondly down toward where Clive's kneeling at the other end of the sitting room, watching the way Claudia leans into his touch. "Such an intelligent, kind young man. I've never seen anyone get along so well with my baby."

Flora hides a giggle. Of course Dahlia would judge Clive by how well he gets along with Claudia. Watching them now, Flora feels bad for hating the cat long ago. Claudia is quite elderly now, and he's lost most of his cantankerous attitude. He seems to almost be smiling, though, as Clive pets him, and Clive is definitely smiling, chuckling as Claudia purrs.

"They're pretty cute together," she says softly.

Dahlia nods. "I think he will fit into our family quite nicely. I'm glad you brought him to meet us—and that you came back too. I've missed…" she trails away, then coughs, straightening up. "Hm. In any case, I—"

"I missed you too, Dahlia."

Dahlia blinks. For a moment, Flora's stomach feels like it's populated by a hurricane of butterflies. Maybe she shouldn't have—

"Th… thank you, my dear." Something shines in Dahlia's eye. She turns away. "You've… really grown up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last one was more of a Lady Dahlia and Flora drabble instead of a Clive/Flora one, haha... I need to write more for the two of them. Also for Alfendi and Clive! They're one of my favourite brotp rarepairs.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. I really appreciate your time.


	6. Present

_Traps_

Clive was a fool to let Dimitri have so much control over the Towering Pagoda. The place is littered with pits, spikes, and all manner of death traps-not to mention the shamelessly tacky decor. Gold drips from every surface, shining in Clive's eyes, making it impossible for him to focus. Dimitri's an idiot-a lovesick fool.

That, and Clive's just very irritable right now.

The professor knows everything. And yet, he's doing nothing about it. Why?

It'd be nice if his hands would stop shaking.

"Wow."

The exclamation almost makes Clive jump. Forcing a calm expression, he breathes deeply, glancing in the direction of the voice. Flora's standing stock-still, her eyes shining in awe. "This place… wow. The Family's got style; that's for sure," she says breathlessly, hands clasped.

The hilarity of how very wrong she is hits him like a train. "I forgot you had such horrible taste," he says teasingly, barely concealing a giggle. He'd judged her as more… demure, not as a gaudy magpie like Dimitri.

Of course, he really knows nothing about her.

"I forgot how rude you were," Flora returns, matching his joking tone. She strides ahead, and, with another laugh, his irritation forgotten, Clive follows.

* * *

_Danger Ahead_

"Flora, he just kidnapped you. You can't expect to sit down and have a nice chat with him!"

"I know that, Luke." It's all Flora can do to keep from snapping at him. Her nerves are frayed. Every squeak of a gear turning, every shuddering crash of the mobile fortress taking another step-every sound overwhelms her senses, and Luke purposely misunderstanding her isn't helping. She forces her voice level. "But we've got to try to reason with him. And he owes me an apology."

"He's not going to give you one." Luke's voice climbs higher and higher. "He's insane, Flora. He could've killed you, and he could've killed me, and he's going to kill everyone else. He's… he's not who we thought he was."

Luke turns away, but not before Flora sees his teary eyes.

"Luke…"

He's hurting as much as she is.

Hesitantly, she reaches toward him, pulling her towards him. Luke stiffens, then melts into her shoulder. "I… I don't want him to be bad," he says, voice shaking. "I really like him."

"I know." Flora pats his shoulder. "I do too."

That's why they have to talk to him. He can't do this. They won't let him.

* * *

_Vacation_

Sand, and seashells, all different shapes and colours, and bits of dried seaweed fill the box. Flora nudges each item until it's as artfully arranged as she can manage, then, finally satisfied, places a lid on top. There's a conch shell here too, but there's really no room for it in the box, and she doubts that Clive believes that you can hear ocean waves through it. Still, she carries it along with the box as she bounds into the kitchen.

Clive's seated at the table. He stares vacantly through an open notebook, a cold cup of tea beside him.

Maybe this won't work, but she has to try.

"Happy first day of summer!" she beams, plopping the box down in front of him with a thud.

Clive startles. "Flora, what…". Then, he sees the box. Hesitantly, he opens it.

She's suddenly so afraid that he'll hate it.

Too anxious to wait for his reaction, Flora rambles instead. "I know you really miss the seaside, and since you can't go this year, well…"

She stops, relief filling her, as the warm smile she'd been hoping for spreads across his face. "Thank you," he says quietly, and that's all she needs.

* * *

_Stars_

"See? That one's Sirius. It's one of the brightest, so it's easy to pick out."

"I regret to inform you, Flora dear, but I knew that already."

"Oh."

Though masked by the night's darkness, Flora seems disappointed, then, indignant. "How did you know that already?"

"Is it that surprising?" Clive lies down, folding his arms under his head. The roof's shingles are mildly uncomfortable, but the view of the night sky is worth it. "Dear old Dimitri told me."

"Hmm." After a moment, Flora lies down too. "How did he know?"

"His dear astrophysicist told him."

"Claire was just an ordinary physicist. But alright."

Her reply is amusingly reluctant. "Is the existence of Sirius really such arcane knowledge?" Clive chuckles, glancing fondly toward her.

She doesn't reply, her eyes locked on the sky. Clive looks up too, trying to see through her eyes. The Milky Way is almost visible tonight, despite the London smog.

Suddenly, she speaks. "You like that word. 'Dear,' I mean."

"It's a word dear to my heart… dearest."

That last word was an afterthought, a continuation of his joke. But she stops, turning to him, her eyes wide, questioning, shining like Sirius, and his heart _aches_.

* * *

_Drowning_

"Flora, wake up. Please."

Flora's eyes fly open. For a moment, she lies frozen, stunned, staring up, trying to remember where she is. She's so hot, and her face is sticky with tears, and… and Clive is here, his dark-circled eyes wide, his hands wringing each other frantically, and…

She remembers her dream.

With another sob, she sits up, trying to compose herself, then gives up, throwing her arms around him.

He gasps quietly, and she lets go, even though it kills her to. "I'm sorry," she starts, but slowly, Clive's arms wrap around her, one hand cradling the back of her head. His fingers brush against her hair, at first hesitantly, then moving into a steady rhythm, back and forth. She breathes in time with it, her head slowly falling into his shoulder.

"It's alright," he says shakily. "A nightmare, I take it?"

"Mm-hm," is all she can say.

Her nightmares are nothing new, but normally, she's able to wake up. Normally, they don't seem so real.

She feels his chest rise and fall. He's alive. And he will be, as long as he's here.

"Please stay," she murmurs. "Please don't disappear."

He inhales slowly, and holds her closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, everyone! I'd like to especially thank clive simp for commenting; I was already working on this chapter before you commented, but your lovely comments made me absolutely obsessed with working on this and getting it done, haha… I wound up writing so much stuff that didn't wind up in this chapter, most of it awful, but hopefully I can rework some of it into a oneshot or something…
> 
> About the third drabble... I have a yet-unfinished oneshot/headcanon about Clive and the seaside. Basically, it's a special place to him because, even though his original parents were poor and the three of them could rarely spend time together because of work schedules, they'd always manage to get there for at least one afternoon every summer. During this drabble, since Clive's under something like house arrest, he's not able to leave the Layton house to visit like he normally would.
> 
> Thank you all again for reading; I really appreciate it.


	7. I Love You, Still

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note to say that this chapter's a bit more romantic than the past few. If you prefer platonic Clora, you might just want to read the first two drabbles and skip the rest. Thank you for reading!

_Annoyance_

"Luke, do… do you think I'm annoying?"

Flora's question catches Clive off guard. He struggles to hide his startled reaction, desperately thinking of something intelligent to say. "D-did I used to?"

"I think so." Flora laughs nervously. "At least, I feel that way sometimes. It feels like you and the professor have more fun without me. Sometimes it feels like you leave me behind on purpose." She looks away. "You've adventured together so often, and I... I just want an adventure too."

Clive's discomfort grows with every word from Flora's mouth. As much as Clive's feelings are… conflicted regarding the professor, Clive refuses to believe that he (or Luke, by extension) would purposely neglect anybody. The professor is a paragon of virtue; a saviour, who would never leave anyone behind.

(Anyone except _Clive_.)

Although, in this case, perhaps the professor _should_ have left Flora behind. Flora's done nothing wrong, but now, she's involved in far more than a simple _adventure._

"I'm sorry I did that to you," he finds himself saying.

Flora's eyes brighten, and she smiles with relief. "Well, at least you're not doing it now!"

Clive bites his lip, and wishes that she'd never come to Future London.

* * *

_Test_

Dear Big Luke

To Clive Dove

Dear Clive

I can't get it right. I don't know what I'm supposed to call you.

I didn't get the chance to talk to you before they took you away. I wish I was able to. At least we got to talk during the adventure. I told you about my family, and how I don't like being left alone, and about _everything_. I talk too much, but you listened. But you didn't tell me very much about you. But still, I had so much fun with you and the professor and Luke. You seemed like a true gentleman, and I believed everything you said. I really liked you. And then, it turned out you weren't Luke after all.

You really hurt me.

I want to meet you again, and get to know "Clive," but only after you say you're sorry. Please tell me that it wasn't all fake, that maybe we could actually be friends someday.

Can you just write back, "Sorry?" Just the one word; that's all I want for now. We can talk after that.

I hope you're okay. The professor said you seemed really low.

I wish you the best.

Flora

* * *

_Abandoned_

Flora's eyes dart frantically between the clock and the phone on the wall. She hasn't touched her teacup; it's been cold for hours now. Clive wonders if he should offer to make her some more. He needs to do _something._

The phone is silent, hours after it should have rung.

The silence is excruciating, the unspoken anxiety in both of their minds screaming to be heard.

"What if the…"

Flora's voice cracks, and she shudders, slumping against the table. "He promised he'd call once he arrived, right? What if…"

What if the plane crashed?

What if the professor died? What if they're all alone now?

"He's _fine,"_ Clive hears himself say. "He's got to be. Please don't worry, Flora." He's saying the words for his own benefit as much as hers, but he has to say something, as powerless as he is.

"But what if…"

She's already lost two parents. Clive prays she won't have to feel the pain of losing a third.

"Then… then I'll be here, at least." Hesitantly, Clive lays a hand on her shoulder. "We'll get through it together."

She stays silent, but her hand slowly rises to her shoulder, resting on top of his hand.

* * *

_Stripes_

"Tell me you don't like it. Tell me honestly." Clive rolls the cigarette between his fingers carelessly. "I'll throw them all away if you really don't. But there has to be a good reason."

"It's kind of gross." Flora watches his hand intently. "It smells bad."

"Well, I'd do it outside."

"I _hope_ so."

She doesn't like it.

(Even if he looks kind of handsome…)

(Stop blushing, _ugh.)_

Clive spirals into obsession so easily. He'll be smoking a pack a day if he gets started. "You don't have enough money to support an addiction," she says, listing reasons on her fingers.

"I wouldn't get add—"

"You would. And the professor wouldn't like it."

"Maybe we could do it together. A gentleman thing."

The professor would _not_ approve, and Clive knows it. "That's not something gentlemen do!" Flora scolds, holding up a third finger. "Last reason: it's bad for you!"

"Do I care?"

" _I_ do!"

Clive blinks, then he laughs, grinning. "If it bothers you _that_ much, I'll stop. Even though you're cute when you stare."

"I wasn't staring!" squeaks Flora, her face growing hot. She looks away hurriedly, ignoring his amused expression.

( Reason number four: she's tired of constantly blushing.)

* * *

_I Can't_

"I can't. I'm sorry. I can't."

Even if he wants to, he _can't._

Flora freezes. The hurt in her dark eyes is almost too much to bear. "I'm sorry," she says, taking a step back, but her hands stay on his shoulders, her breath warm against Clive's neck.

He owes her an explanation, but he's worried he'll burst into tears, or fall down, dead. "I'm… I'm not good enough." It's _disgusting_ how much his voice is shaking. "Forgiveness is all I could hope for, and I don't even deserve _that_. You… you can't actually l-love… _Flora_ , I…"

Maybe if he had never wanted revenge. Maybe if he'd never gone mad. Maybe, if he hadn't done _everything_ wrong, he could have met her some other way, and he wouldn't have hurt her.

But he ruined everything. He's not good enough. He's not. He's—

"Clive."

Flora pulls him against her, and they slowly fall to their knees. He's crying now; he hates himself; he's so _manipulative..._

"I really do love you, though," she says softly.

She _can't._ He's...

She kisses his forehead. Clive's eyes fall closed, his lungs aching as he tries in vain to choke back sobs.

He doesn't deserve her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thanks so much for reading! I'm so glad I was able to get another chapter done... I've been feeling a bit overwhelmed with school and life recently, so adding a little more Clora to the world makes me feel a bit better, haha...
> 
> I keep seeing art with Clive smoking and liking it despite my aversion to smoking in real life, so that sort of inspired the second-last drabble. (Clive actually trying to flirt?? Me writing flirting?? Yikes.)
> 
> Also, I'm running a Clora week in February! If you want to join, please look up "clivexfloraweek" on tumblr and you'll find the blog and prompts. I'm going to need all of December to get the writing done, since my schoolwork makes it difficult to get much writing done, but I'm really excited. I hope that I can write a lot.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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